


The Secretary

by lukegray (spacebarista)



Series: Relation de Travail [1]
Category: The Following
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous Relationships, Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/lukegray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one knows what to think of the Frenchwoman who works for Luke Gray. It doesn't matter to her. She's loyal to him and that's all they need to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secretary

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon on tumblr, who just asked for a Luke/Giselle fic from a list of AUs. I chose boss/intern, and changed it to like a secretary/assistant, as they suits them more.

Giselle hears her boss enter his offices before she sees him. He’s been in and out of meetings all week, and she’s barely seen him. Hell, she’s seen his _brother_ more than she’s seen _him_. She’s kept the other employees under control, kept up with accounts, got to sit at his desk (not like she’s never done that before), and basically ran the company while he dealt with investors and the board and partner companies and lawyers and God knows who else.

 

Many of the men and women he’s been meeting with have no idea what to make of the Frenchwoman. They call her “miss”, “secretary”, “mademoiselle” and more, all while giving her a once over or not looking at her at all. She’s never come off as anything but professional, serious about her position, and passionate about her work. And yet she’s still treated like someone who just wanders into all the meetings looking to fill coffee cups and be oggled at by middle-aged men. She wonders if it’s her looks, or her nationality, or if they can tell that she and him are closer than they might appear. Her boss can tell she hates it, and she can tell he knows, all without saying a word to each other.

 

So her boss leaves her in charge of the company when he has to meet with the snooty bastards, as opposed to expecting her to stomach it every time. It’s always fun to see how surprised they are when they see she’s still around, as if her absence from their private meetings meant she’s been let go.

 

_Idiots._

 

He’s growling into his phone as he strides towards the tall glass doors that separate their reception area from their office. Even with his hair ruffled and his tie askew and his handsome face set in a scowl, he managed to maintain a high level of attractiveness.  Giselle slowly rises from his chair and steps to the side of the desk, watching him carefully. He pushes the door open, and she can finally hear him.

 

“–and he said it wouldn’t matter, I spoke with him myself, Carlos.”

 

Giselle scrunches her nose. She _hates_ Carlos. He’s always been rude to her. He finds her use of her native French with her boss when they want to keep things private off-putting, and he is loud and rude about it. He also calls her names. He’s the biggest idiot of them all, and her boss hates him too. She wonders constantly how someone as rude, entitled, self-absorbed Carlos ever got as far as he has in business. There’s looking out for yourself, and there’s pissing off every one of your connections with your attitude.

 

He finally looks at her and holds up a finger. She simply nods. No making fun of _dumb-dumb_ right now.

 

“Look, I get it,” he sighs, rounding the desk and sitting heavily in the chair, letting his bag fall to the ground beside him with a thud. Giselle bends and picks it up, carrying it over to the wall and hanging it on a hook there. He doesn’t notice. “You ‘need’ to ask Carroll’s permission because you _need_ to feel important in all of this. But I have the paperwork from him. Miss Hill gave it to me yesterday. You’re not needed in the negotiation, end of story!”

 

His voice rises as he goes on, and a small, satisfied grin grows on Giselle’s face. It’s always good to hear Carlos taken down a peg or two. She thinks over what he’s saying and glances at the clock. Joe Carroll. Negotiation. Meeting at four. It’s nearing two.

 

“Fine. Talk to him. I don’t care. I’m seeing him soon myself… yeah, yeah, whatever. Good luck with that.” He hangs up the call and glares at his phone like he’s looking at the man himself. “You fucking piece of garbage.”

 

Giselle snorts and approaches him again, watching him drop his phone to rub at his temples. “I assume the meeting didn’t go well then, Mr. Gray?”

 

Luke Gray looks at her a moment, slightly shocked, as if he forgot that she was in the room with him. Giselle is used to it. He’ll either hyper focus… or not focus at all. It can be wonderful _or_ frustrating. Depending on what it is. He blinks and shakes his head.

 

“No, no, Miss Richoux. The meeting went fine. It was just–” he pouts and gestures at his phone with a huff. “That asshole.” When Giselle reaches his side, he glances up at her, letting his weariness finally show. She’s one of the only people he lets in enough to see it. “When is my meeting with Joe?”

 

“Four, Mr. Gray.”

 

“Really?” Luke looks at the clock and sighs heavily, letting his head fall into his hands. “Okay. I’ll finish this paperwork and then ask Jamel to take me over. I told him to take a long lunch.”

 

Giselle watches him rub at his eyes. He’s been running on near empty for _days_. She knows he’s barely slept, staying up late to finish things he doesn’t give to her, getting up early to shmooze anyone who might be against him and his position before early meetings, skipping meals to appease others by continuing to work, and just being stressed out from all of the duties he’ll be expected to pick up. It worries her.

 

She’s gentle as she rests her hands on his shoulders and massages them, trying to work out some knots. He’s far too tense. He relaxes under her touch ever so slightly, and leans back into his chair and into her.

 

“Maybe you should take a short nap instead. Or go eat something.”

 

Luke groans. He’s stubborn as anything. “That’s ridiculous. I’m fine.”

 

“Luke,” Giselle sighs, further breaking the air of professionality. “I can look over the paperwork. You need rest.”

 

“I do not.”

 

“You can’t talk to Joe Carroll like you talked to Carlos. And I know you _will_ if you get too irritated. And you’re already _far_ too irritated.”

 

Luke hums, but doesn’t answer. He knows she’s right. She continues to work at his shoulders in silence. Pride flickers through her as he continues to relax. This is the only way to shut him up half the time: make him feel so good he doesn’t even _want_ to talk. She leans in close to his ear.

 

“Just sleep for an hour, on the sofa,” she says softly, trying not to break the spell. “I’ll look over the paperwork; I know all that you do. And I’ll wake you in time for you to glance over it before you leave.”

 

Luke doesn’t answer for a moment. He sighs heavily and nods. “All right. One hour.”

 

Giselle helps him from the chair and pulls him over to the sofa, holding his hand. Luke sprawls out on it while Giselle bends to tug his shoes from his feet. She’s done this plenty of times: because he was close to passing out, because he was drunk, because he was already asleep, and all combinations of those. She’s never minded. It’s better than covering up for extramarital affairs or bring groped or otherwise harrassed like other assistants and secretaries she’s met. Luke does none of the above, and doesn’t expect her to deal with any of it from anyone either.

 

He’s asleep within moments, his now–loose, slightly mussed hair and relaxed expression making him look more like a boy than a man in charge of a company. She smiles a bit at him. He should have known better than to argue with her.

 

Straightening her skirt, Giselle takes the papers from his bag and returns to Luke’s desk, setting a low alarm on her phone in case she doesn’t pay attention to the time. She doesn’t want to startle him awake. She’s done that before, and it wasn’t pleasant. She settles into his chair and starts to read over the agreement as she sips at her cooling coffee.

 

The merger looks good. Luke doesn’t get shortchanged in power or profits, and neither does Mr. Joe Carroll. They will become equal partners and the companies would merge over a few years. There’s room for pulling out of the deal for either of them, including who would get what should that occur. The companies are expected to become more profitable, and stocks are expected to rise based on the confidence the public and both boards have with the CEOs. Giselle notices a smile on her face. She’s never felt as proud as she does of Luke, reading what came of Carroll’s impression of him as a businessman and a leader. Her gaze strays to the sleeping man, snoring softly and inoffensively, his arm hanging over the side of the sofa.

 

Luke’s a fairly good man. Not the _best_ , of course. No one is perfect. But he’s good where it counts and to those who count. He respects his employees, treats them well, stays firm but not overly strict, and will defend anyone from abuse from higher ups if he catches it. But most importantly… he respects _her_. He always has, from the moment he met her. He once confided in her that she impressed him him with her air of severity and professionalism. He also said that that was what prompted him to send her a job offer despite her already lucrative position in France. She had looked him up and was impressed in kind. Until she’d done her research, the only things that impressed her were his good looks and the figure he cut in a suit.

 

Taking up a red pen, Giselle makes quick notes all through the documents, points for Luke to look through and study once he wakes up. Underlines and clarifications and opinions color the thick paper. She likes to be thorough. She’s always prided herself in her abilities as someone who deals with logistics and planning. She wants to make sure these plans are as clear and fair as possible. She knows the board and the company lawyers have all been through them, but _she_ hasn’t been. And Luke will trust it more if she says it’s fair and benefits him.

 

Giselle finishes with about ten minutes to spare. She calls Jamel and asks him to have the car ready in fifteen. She brews some coffee in their coffee maker, enough for the three of them and more. Luke stirs at the scent, but doesn’t waken. She pours two travel mugs, putting sugar and cream in hers and just sugar in Luke’s, and places hers on the desk before crossing back to the sofa and kneeling beside her sleeping boss. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she shakes him as gently as possible.

 

“Luke? It’s been an hour. You have to get ready for the meeting.”

 

The man hums, brows drawing together as he rolls more onto his back to peer at her. She simply smiles and holds up the cup.

 

“I have coffee.”

 

Luke stares at her, then shrugs and sits up with a groan, taking the mug from her. “ _Now_ you’re speaking my language.”

 

“Well with English not being my first language, there tends to be some confusion.” He lets out a puff of laughter as he sips at the fresh coffee. Giselle straightens, nudging his shoes over with her foot. “When you’re ready, I made notes for you to go over. I’ve already called Jamel, he should be out front soon.”

 

Luke grins up at her, his expression a mixture of pride and slyness. “You think of everything, don’t you, Miss Richoux?”

 

“That’s what you pay me to do,” she smiles coyly. “Mr. Gray.”

 

Giselle returns to Luke’s desk to retrieve her coffee while he puts his shoes back on. His fingers trail across her lower back as he crosses behind her to sit at his desk. She looks over at him, but his face betrays nothing, hidden behind his coffee mug. Giselle studies his ruffled hair as he studies her neat notes. He looks a mess, but he looks much more relaxed than he did when he stormed in.

 

Nodding, he hums appreciatively, tilting his head to grin at her. “This is very good, Miss Richoux. You may have a better understanding of the whole deal than I do.”

 

“I usually do.” She placed her mug back down and gestures for him to step closer to her. “C’mere. Let me fix you.”

 

Luke sets his coffee next to hers and faces her, standing straight and proud as if to show off. She rolls her eyes and straightens his tie. She feels his eyes on her.

 

“You should come with me tonight. You’d be a huge help. And Emma likes you.”

 

Giselle hums, getting his tie in order and reaching up to smooth his hair down. “I don’t know… You seem to have a pretty good handle on–”

 

“Giselle.”

 

The Frenchwoman meets his eyes. Luke doesn’t look smug, nor desperate. He watches her calmly.

 

“I’d like you to come with me. Please. I’ll take you to dinner after.” He smiles just slightly. “I owe you for all the work you’ve been doing this week.”

 

Giselle opens her mouth to argue. He’s clearly exhausted, stressed out, and worn so thin she can practically see through him. But she’s struck by how genuine his request is. And the fact that he even requested for her to accompany him at all. He’d said _please_ , for God’s sake. She huffs out a breath through her nose and smiles, shaking her head.

 

“All right. But it has to be a _short_ dinner, Luke. You need _rest_.” His smile widens, but he doesn’t agree to her terms. She sighs again. “I’ll get our bags.”

 

They trade off, Luke giving her her coffee for his bag and Giselle doing her best to juggle all three items. Once they’re set, Luke strides for the door, Giselle following close behind, as always. When people say that there is always a strong woman behind a man, they talk about her. She’s the silent presence, the advisor to the king. Seemingly harmless, but truly full of quiet power. She digs out her phone and dials a quick number. Luke holds the door for her, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Who are you calling?”

 

“Le Bernardin, to make a reservation,” she declares, grinning at him. “If you’re buying me dinner, then I want something expensive.”

 

Luke snorts and takes her coffee before holding his arm out for her to take. “I’d expect nothing less, Miss Richoux.”

  
“ _Bien_.” Giselle rests her hand in the crook of his arm, pressing her phone to her ear and pulling him toward the elevators. “Now… let’s go show them what we’re made of, Mr. Gray.”


End file.
